


Safe With Me

by momothespicy (momothesweet)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe, Consensual Non-Consent, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Rape Roleplay, Reader-Insert, Roleplay, Rough Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sex Worker Hanzo Shimada, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 09:43:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15410178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momothesweet/pseuds/momothespicy
Summary: You've been having a rough time. You ask Hanzo to visit you to fulfill a fantasy and help cope.Please be mindful of the tags before you consider reading this fic.





	Safe With Me

**Author's Note:**

> Just going to emphasize one more time to _****_
> 
> # please read the tags.
> 
>  _ ****_I'd rather not put up with anyone who fails to read them, so this is your last warning.
> 
> But with that out of the way...
> 
> This was a WIP I've had tucked away for a few months, then picked it back up because I've been having so much trouble writing Hanzo. I've also wanted to try my hand at consensual non-con, so you can see that I'm beyond my comfort zone here :o
> 
> For my own sake because it still makes me feel weird, the first portion of the fic blatantly makes it clear that this will be a _scene._ Aftercare follows, of course :)
> 
> Strap in and hope you guys enjoy!

_Worthless._

_Stupid._

_Nothing._

It’s been a hell of a week for you. Hell of a summer, really. You’ve done your best to have a great time, make yourself busy, and ignore the grossness that comes with life and an overbearing family. Regardless of your productivity, those biting words you received recently are eating away at your brain. Years of distancing yourself from poisonous people and somehow, they still get to you. In the near future, you’ll want to think of more effective solutions to keep those people away.

For now, you need to relieve yourself of all the stress and anxiety induced by the sudden wave of nastiness. There’s one person who will do the trick. On a Friday afternoon, you curl up in your bed and stare at a particular contact on your phone. He shouldn’t mind you suddenly scheduling something on short notice, right? Hanzo is more laid-back than he lets on. At least, that’s what you’ve gathered from previous appointments. Plus, you’ve saved up enough money to see him again. There are other ways to relieve stress and release whatever is consuming you. None of those activities work quite as well as sex.

With a person who’s good at it.

 _Very_ good at it.

One deep breath and you tap his name, eyes screwed shut and preparing for the worst. If this doesn’t work out, you can spend the next few days or weeks crying and eating pizza and get your relief that way. Time and carbohydrates can heal pain.

Two rings in and he answers his phone in his calm-but-intimidating voice, as always. Except, instead of a usual greeting, he says your name like a question.

“Yeah, I—” you pause to gather your words, “I know. I usually do this over text, but I just wanted to talk to you because I know this is different.”

“Is something the matter?”

Though it is an odd question to ask from someone who simply does his job and finishes, he isn’t wrong to ask it. You’re glad you waited to contact him. If you scheduled something during the days you faced the wrath of toxic terror, you’d be much more of a mess. Or, maybe, he actually feels bad for you because he knows most of your history. You like ranting to him during aftercare sometimes and he never interrupts. A respectful man in his line of work, really.

“No, or, well, I mean—” you mentally scream at yourself to get it together. Softer, you continue, “I’m sorry. Can I see you tonight?”

“Tonight?”

“Or tomorrow, doesn’t matter,” you say quickly. Of course he might be busy tonight. It’s Friday.

There’s a silence on the other end and for a split second, you think about hanging up. Hanzo is a busy man and you shouldn’t have wasted his time with your bullshit. You didn’t even say anything relevant and yet you _know_ he feels the awkwardness flowing through the phone call.

So when he finally replies, you stop holding your breath. “I can see you tonight. Do you have something planned already?”

“Yes.” Your answer is more confident this time. After being knocked down this week, there’s no stopping you from wanting to do a scene you’ve had in your head for a while. “Do you remember what we talked about when we first met? What I wanted to work up to?”

“I do,” he says right away. “At your apartment?”

You nod, then you remember to speak, “Yes, please. I don’t want to go anywhere else tonight. Besides, I don’t think being outside is the smartest thing to do for this.”

“Very well. Do you remember our safe word?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I will not tell you when I come over tonight.”

“Okay.” The situation sounds perfect in your ears. Before you hang up, you interject, “Oh! And, um. Thank you, Hanzo.”

There’s another silence that follows. You swallow hard.

“You’re welcome. Are you ready, pet?”

You crack a smile. “Yes, sir.”

With that, he hangs up. You put your phone down and keep yourself from crying before the scene even starts. Hanzo may do his worst tonight. However, in no way will he ever actually harm you.

It’s rare to find that sort of trust in people these days.

 

The whole idea tonight is to not think about your scene until it actually happens. You got the final okay from Hanzo after a few more confirmations, then set up your payments in a separate app; now, you can go about your business and forget you even called him. That’s pretty easy, seeing that you’d always like to forget your awkward interactions and refuse to replay the dumb things you say around someone so powerful and collected. To give your mind some much-needed rest, you order your favorite takeout food and binge-watch some popular sitcom. Turns out, the hype is real, and the food you buy is ten times tastier. By the time you finish a season and a half, you’re ready to shower and head for bed.

Your apartment is eerily quiet when you cross your bedroom and enter the connected bathroom to turn on the shower. After shedding your clothes, you step into warm water and scrub away any residue of drama and shitty emotions. It’s good therapy, you think, being in the shower alone with the task of getting clean. Staying too long will have the opposite effect, so you try not to do that as steam fills the bathroom. You smell of your favorite flower once you step out and wrap yourself in a fluffy towel. Inhaling the scent brings you minutely closer to peace.

That is until you get a faint whiff of cologne.

One strong arm throws itself around your waist and one of your arms, then drags you back against the person’s chest. You only catch a glimpse of who he is in the bathroom mirror, confirming that yes, this is happening, and this is happening with _him_. Just when you’re about to yell, he places a handkerchief over your mouth and nose. You inhale the chloroform when it’s pressed to your face, and do nothing more. The last thing you hear is Japanese. The amount you’ve learned is sparse, but you can deduce that he doesn’t want you struggling at all.

“ _Kireina ojousan_ , _otonashiku shite moraou_.”

And then everything goes black.

 

You blink rapidly and realize you’re stretched out in your bed and lying on your stomach. Completely naked and dried off from your shower, you find your breath then immediately lose it when you try to move your arms. It’s no use; you can feel the leather tight around your wrists behind your back. Try as you might, there’s no way you can break free. That’s made crystal clear when you try scrambling away from any unwanted touches with your unbound legs.

Escaping will not happen. Your assailant grabs a hold of your wrists and pushes you between your shoulder blades. He straddles you and growls in your ear, a scary-yet-sexy sound that leaves you wet and fearful and excited all at once.

“You are not going anywhere,” he declares abrasively. “You are mine.”

He smacks your ass and you whimper, complying when he grabs your hips and lifts you from the mattress so that you’re on your knees and your face is pressed to the sheets. His hands are all over you, scratching down and up your skin and spreading you wide enough to expose your arousal. It’s only natural that he notices.

“Do you find pleasure in this?” He swipes two fingers up and down your pussy, collecting the wetness and teasing you by slipping the tips of his fingers inside. You’re breathless. “ _Inran na onna da_.”

He shoves his two fingers inside and you squirm some more, inching away from him but stopping when he smacks your ass with more force. “If you keep moving, I will tie your legs down.”

You’d rather not be more immobile than you already are. Obeying without question, you do your best to stay still and he continues to finger you, roughly pumping in and out until you’re soaked. It’s painful and forced and so, so good. It’s as if he doesn’t need to get to know your body; you’re simply tight and wet and hot and he’s preparing you for ultimate possession. Nothing else has made your body so responsive, so stimulated its borderline overwhelming. And only with his fingers jabbing inside you, no less. You don’t voice your pleasure for him, not for this scene. Instead, you chew on your lower lip and dig your nails into your palms.

When he’s satisfied, he pulls out his fingers and you hear the sounds of a zipper being undone and clothes being rustled. It’s a short window of time to catch your breath and prepare yourself.

You get no warning when he lifts and plunges into you, filling you up completely and making you scream. Tightly taking a hold of your hips, he thrusts hard and fast, grunting each time he pulls out and slams right back into you.

“ _Sugoi_. You’re so tight.”

Every movement feels as though you’re knocking your brain into a frenzy, combining submission and euphoria into something not many people could ever understand about you. It should feel wrong. It shouldn’t feel good.

Fuck that. This is your space.

Your assailant squeezes your ass and spreads you, murmuring what sounds like curses in Japanese while you curl your toes and fingers. Even without touching your clit, without any words prior, he knows what to do to make you want him and him only.

Just before he finishes inside you, you clench around him and come on his cock, feigning more resistance as you squirm and move about and attempt to break his grip. You moan and scream and pull at what is presumably his belt tied around you. He still holds onto you like a lifeline, groaning through his orgasm and relishing the feeling. Eventually, the room stills. You’re mumbling nonsense into the sheets, rocking back and forth while the heat comes down to a simmer in your body.

It all happened so fast and now it’s over, just like that.

Hanzo undoes the belt from your wrists and gently places them down on the bed. He pulls out slowly and stretches your legs, then turns you over while you’re still in a daze.

He calls your name once. “Where are you?”

You take a second to recuperate, then look around. “This is...my room.”

“What is my name?”

You smile tiredly and put a free hand to his cheek. His beard has grown a bit since you last saw him and some of his tied hair has fallen onto his face. A handsome fellow, if you do say so yourself. “Hanzo. You could fuck the life out of me and I’d still know.”

He smiles back and kisses your forehead. “Would you like to get dressed now?”

You nod, then allow him to move around your room, grabbing damp towels from the bathroom to clean the two of you up. When that’s done, you thank him for handing you the clothes you were initially going to wear after your shower and accept the help he gives you while putting them on. Your legs are not completely sore from his doing, so that’s a good sign. He definitely wore you down from that position, though. He’s also got that covered with a bottle of water and your favorite snack on your nightstand.

Neither of you says anything for a while. That’s usually how it works; you both talk it out beforehand, do the scene, then aftercare with little to no talking until you’re ready. Hanzo is a man of few words during that last phase, as you’ve learned from seeing him these last few months. It’s only after you’ve eaten and had some water that he speaks a little more and opens his arms to you in your bed. The man is far from a boyfriend, but he’s a damn good cuddler and you can respect that.

“I will be sending someone to fix your window next week,” he says. “That’s how I got in.”

You rest your head on his shoulder and nod. “Thanks. Nobody saw you?”

“It appears to be that way.”

“Mm. I'm still on the pill, too, so you don't have to worry about that.”

"Good. Just as we've discussed."

There’s another long silence, but you don’t have any words to fill it. A few of those nasty comments from the past week creep back to the forefront of your mind. Hanzo seems to take notice when you hold him tighter like he can absorb your negative thoughts like a mental health sponge.

“Would you like to talk about what is wrong?”  
  
You pause. Then, you spill everything without stopping. He likely doesn’t care for your story; with his other clients and other areas of work, you have an inkling that he hears this kind of bullshit all the time. People see him for different reasons and emotional release is absolutely one of them. While none of this is actually confirmed, you still apologize when you finish ranting.

“You probably hear this all the time,” you say when you wipe your tears and snot away with the package of tissues Hanzo offers you. “I’m sorry you have to hear it again.”

When you calm down and get most of the tears out of your system, he motions for you to come back closer to him. Reluctantly, you lie back and hide your face in his neck.

You don’t expect him to rub your arm and kiss the top of your head. On top of that, you _really_ don’t expect him to give you the warmest reassurance you’ll ever receive, “You do not have to apologize. You’ll always be safe with me. Always.”

You can’t help but cry some more. He doesn’t mind it. In fact, he stays the night with you, cradling you to sleep and allowing you to feel the safest you’ve ever been in a long, long time.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Bon, Kelly, and Mari for reading and reassuring that this fic is worthy of posting.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments, kudos, feedback and Hanzo's protection are greatly appreciated!
> 
> [Tumblr](peachofwork.tumblr.com)


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